


No Wedding, but a Funeral

by flaggermousse



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Complicated Emotions, Funeral, Gen, Grief/Mourning, POV Petunia Evans Dursley, Post-First War with Voldemort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:20:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27878237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flaggermousse/pseuds/flaggermousse
Summary: Petunia Dursley stopped the car on the side of the road and got out the map for tenth time that day. She had taken another wrong turn. She had never been to Godric’s Hollow, never once visited Lily’s home once she moved there with her husband.She hadn’t even been at her wedding. Lily had invited her, but Petunia had made excuses and sent a gift instead of going herself. She swallowed.Whyhadn’t she gone to that wedding? … because it would have been full of Lily’s people. Unnatural and strange.Instead it would be for her funeral Petunia finally showed up to her sister’s home.
Relationships: Petunia Evans Dursley & Remus Lupin
Comments: 6
Kudos: 33





	No Wedding, but a Funeral

Petunia Dursley stopped the car on the side of the road and got out the map for tenth time that day. She had taken another wrong turn. She had never been to Godric’s Hollow, the only reason she knew where it was were the return addresses on Lily’s letters. The letter from this Dumbledore-person had not included any such practical information. That was to be expected from _such_ people.

Folding the map back up, Petunia turned the car around and continued on. She was a reasonably competent driver, but now she kept getting distracted and missing signs. Whenever they took longer trips, Vernon usually drove. He had offered to take a couple of days off work, drive them down there, help her through it all, but Petunia had declined. She was entering Lily’s world, and she couldn’t bring anyone with her.

So she had rented a car and left Vernon and Dudley behind, in the safe normality of Little Whinging. Her mother-in-law had offered to come and help with Dudley and her newly arrived nephew for a couple of days, and that was a relief. She doubted Vernon could cope with heating bottles and changing nappies; the home had been _her_ domain for as long as they had been together.

The roads became unfamiliar. She had never been in this part of the country, never once visited Lily’s home once she moved there with her husband. She hadn’t even been at her wedding. Lily had invited her, but Petunia had made excuses and sent a gift instead of going herself. She swallowed. Why hadn’t she gone to that wedding? … because it would have been full of Lily’s people. Unnatural and strange. Vernon had understood why they didn’t go. He had seemed relieved.

Instead it would be for her funeral Petunia finally showed up to her sister’s home.

The car behind her honked and she nearly drove off the road in surprise. She hadn’t noticed how her speed had slowed to a crawl. She sped up, focusing on maintaining proper speed, and missed the exit she was supposed to take. It took a while before she managed to find a roundabout and get back on track.

* * *

At last, Petunia reached what had to be the right place. She parked the car outside a small, old-fashioned inn, and walked down the narrow road. Godric’s Hollow was a small village. Unkempt meadows and trees threatened to swallow up the gardens on the outskirts. The cottages looked old enough to not have proper electricity, and were likely full of mice. The streetlamps were the old-fashioned kind Petunia had seen in paintings from Victorian times. It looked … like something from Lily’s world. So unlike her own. Each cottage was slightly different from the others, clearly not striving towards any perfect symmetry as her own neighbourhood did. Petunia rounded a corner, and froze.

The cottage in front of her was a ruin. The top of the roof had been blown away, a gaping hole showing every passer-by the remains of a child’s bedroom. The walls and floor were torn apart, broken toys scattered around. A crib stood in the middle, remarkably untouched by anything other than the frost.

It was as if Petunia was rooted to the ground, staring. This was the place Lily had died.

Petunia could feel a pricking in her eyes. She hadn’t cried when she read the letter. It would have been natural, expected of her, but the tears hadn’t come. ‘Shock’ was what Vernon had said, as he placed her in a chair and got her something to drink.

But once the shock wore off, the tears still didn’t appear. It felt as if they got stuck in her throat, and she swallowed them down. Petunia had decided to do it properly, writing a list of all the things she needed to do. She had done them for her own parents not too long ago; she still remembered the practical details. It kept her mind busy, distracted her from it all. She could swallow it down and get on with things. But now, face to face with the place, it seemed too big a lump in her throat to swallow anymore.

“Cryin’ shame, that.”

A voice tore her out of her contemplations. A fat, old man had come up beside her, also looking at Lily’s home. His breath smelled of beer when he opened his mouth again.

“Some fault in the electric system, I heard. Young couple, just startin’ life. Awful.”

Petunia struggled to swallow. A problem with the electrical system. So that was the lie they’d fed the normal people. She couldn’t get any words past the lump in her throat, but she refused to cry in front of a stranger, out here in public. She turned without a word, and headed towards the inn she parked her car by. By the time she had rented a room and was alone again, the tears wouldn’t come.

* * *

The inn didn’t _seem_ to have mice. At least Petunia hadn’t seen any. She got up early to drive to the hospital, but once she parked there, she ended up sitting in the car, unable to get out. She had been so insistent on going alone, but now she wished Vernon was with her. He was the steady rock in her life; he could have calmed her, talked sense into her; supported her in the walk over the parking lot that now seemed too long. 

It got colder and colder in the car as she sat there. It was November, after all. People peered at her from the windows, probably wondering what she was doing. Eventually a nurse opened the hospital door, and started walking towards her. Petunia opened the car door, swallowed hard, and got out. In the end, she managed to walk into the hospital and down to their mortuary on her own two legs.

* * *

It was Lily, and yet it was not.

Lily was full of life. Lily was special and charming and clever and much more beautiful than Petunia. The body on the table was cold and still, with the red hair fanned out over the surface. Not a scratch on her. The doctors had been perplexed, and they asked her questions about her sister’s medical history. Petunia swallowed and swallowed and answered that she did not know.

Lily’s husband didn’t have any marks either. It was strange, considering the state of their home. The letter hadn’t mentioned _how_ they had died. Petunia didn’t want to know. She signed all the forms and asked for directions to the funeral home.

* * *

The funeral director asked too many questions. What coffin, what flowers, should they be cremated – Petunia felt so unsure. She didn’t know what Lily would have wanted. She had barely seen her the last years, they had grown further and further apart. Why hadn’t she gone to Lily’s wedding? … because Lily would have been a far more beautiful bride than Petunia had been. Why hadn’t she stomped those bitter feelings down and just gone anyway, to her only sister’s wedding?

She decided on simple bouquets with white flowers for the coffins. They could include lilies.

* * *

The priest at least didn’t ask so many questions. He offered his condolences, and when Petunia told him she didn’t know what words should be said, he offered to find something fitting. She sat there a while after the meeting. Some people said they felt comforted, sitting in a church, but when Petunia searched for that feeling, she came up empty. Instead she felt tired and her eyes felt dry.

The gravestone was the last on her orderly list, but when she left the church, it was getting dark. They had agreed to hold the funeral in two days, but it would take a while to carve the stone. Most graves had wooden crosses the first weeks, so it was no rush, it needn’t be finished till then. She decided to get some rest and arrange the gravestone the next day, rather than risk driving in the dark.

Petunia had to pass by Lily’s home to get back to the inn. She ended up stopping again, staring at the crib in the ruined room. _‘Lily died protecting her son’_ the letter had said. Petunia hadn’t understood much about her sister, but thinking about her own little boy, at least she understood that.

Then she heard a sound from the cottage; there was someone in there. The place had been empty since Hallowe’en; of course burglars could just come and go. A sudden feeling of anger flared up in Petunia. Lily hadn’t even been buried, and here these vultures were scavenging. She didn’t really think when she started walking through the garden towards the front door. She was just an unarmed woman, but still, she would give them a piece of her mind!

The door was not locked when Petunia pushed on it. It was freezing inside the cottage, since the roof opened up for the November evening. Someone had turned on a lamp somewhere; she could see the outlines of the furniture. Her purse didn’t have much in it, but still she changed her grip on it to better swing it at the intruder, before raising her voice.

“Who’s there!?”

A man had been kneeling beside a bookshelf. Now he stumbled to his feet, scattering some albums over the floor, and pointed at her with a stick. Buried memories of Lily showing off with one of those _wands_ flashed through Petunia’s mind. This man was one of them! She grabbed a heavy-looking candlestick from the table, hoping it would be a better defence than her purse.

“W-who are you!?”

The man didn’t answer, still pointing the wand at her. Petunia drew herself up to her full height, and raised the candlestick. “This is my _sister’s_ home; you have no right to be here!”

That got a reaction. The man lowered his wand. He looked at her as if he was searching for something in her face. “… _Lily’s_ sister?” His voice was hoarse and weak.

“ _Yes_.” Back in her safe, normal world, Petunia had sometimes pretended to be an only child. Here, in this place, there was no room for such lies. “Petunia Dursley. Now, _who_ are you?”

“Remus Lupin.”

Perhaps she had heard that name at some point, but Petunia couldn’t remember. Throughout the years, she had tried to tune it out when Lily talked about what happened in her world. Had her sister mentioned this man? Had she known him? Lupin’s clothes looked shabby and dirty, and there were scars marring his face. War. Lily _had_ mentioned a war.

“What are you doing here?”

“I – I was up North when – when I heard –” Lupin didn’t so much sit down as collapse onto the sofa. He took a deep breath, clearly trying to compose himself before looking up at her. When he spoke his voice shook. “I – I’m so _sorry_ \- s-sorry for your loss.”

Petunia put the candlestick back on the table and stepped closer. “You knew them?”

Lupin stared at her. Even in the dim light, Petunia could see how red his eyes were. “I – they were my f- _friends_ , my f-” He stopped himself, but Petunia felt sure he meant to say ‘family’. As if this man, this stranger, had been closer to Lily than her biological sister. He was the very picture of grief, while she struggled to even cry.

It was awkward, meeting like this. Petunia looked around the room. One of the albums on the floor had fallen open to a page from her sister’s wedding. The photos moved. She swallowed; she did not belong in this place. If Lupin wanted to torture himself with memories here, he was welcome to it. Petunia turned to leave, but stopped with her hand on the door handle, and drew a deep breath.

“The funeral is this Friday. It starts at eleven.”

“… I’ll be there.”

“I’ll be arranging for a gravestone, tomorrow. Do you-” Petunia hesitated. Why had she said that? Why would she want this stranger with her when she chose the stone? She swallowed, and turned back towards Lupin. He seemed too thin under those filthy clothes, and his cheeks looked sunken in. He was no steady rock; it looked like a wind could blow him over. He was a part of Lily’s world, a place she wanted nothing to do with.

But she had no one else. It could just be for now, until Friday. Then she’d never have to see him again.

“Do you want to join me?”

He stared at her. “Yes. Thank you.”

“I’ll leave from the inn at nine o’clock. Good night.” She turned and walked out of the ruin.

* * *

At nine o’clock, Lupin was outside the inn waiting for her. In the daylight, Petunia could see just how ragged he actually looked. Was that because of the war, or had Lily made friends with homeless people? Since she hadn’t seen Lupin check into the inn, Petunia had assumed he lived somewhere nearby. Now she wondered if he had actually spent the night in the cold, ruined cottage. Still, they greeted each other and got into the car together. There was an awkward silence while Petunia focused on the road towards the closest monument dealer. Then Lupin turned towards her.

“… how’s Harry?”

Petunia pressed her lips together. How was her nephew? She hadn’t seen much of him before she left. He had cried for Lily, and it had been difficult to calm him down. They couldn’t explain to a toddler that his parents were gone.

“He’s fine.”

“… fine.” Lupin sounded doubtful.

“There’s was a cut on his forehead, but other than that not a scratch.” The room was blown apart, but Lily had shielded him. “He – he doesn’t understand what happened to his parents.”

Lupin sighed. “There are … some albums in the cottage. James liked taking photos, so there’s plenty from Harry’s first year, their wedding … school days. You could bring them back with you, then you’d have something to show him when he’s older.”

Petunia tightened her grip on the steering wheel; everything in her screamed ‘no’. Those photos moved, it was unnatural, people could ask questions. She didn’t want to bring anything from Lily’s world back with her. Still, she didn’t want to start an argument in the car, so she just gave a small nod. Lupin seemed content with that.

* * *

The monument dealer let them look around. There were samples of different stones and shapes, as if the place was a false graveyard. There were tissues on the tables, and a couple of bibles. The funeral home had also had those. All these places were preparing for people breaking down.

Lupin hung back, seemingly not wanting to intrude on her decisions. He sat down by the tables while she walked back and forth among the stones. He was a stranger, one of _them_ , but at least he was more polite than Lily’s husband had been. It somehow felt easier just having him there, as a supporting shadow.

As time ticked by, Petunia felt more and more uncertain. What would Lily have wanted? This somehow felt more important than the flowers and the other arrangements, this stone would stand in the graveyard for years and years. A couple of times she looked over at Lupin, almost wanting to ask what he thought. _He_ had known Lily; did he know what she would have wanted? Petunia swallowed the question down and continued to look through the stones.

She ended up choosing white marble.

The manager gave her forms to fill out for the inscription. She went back to the table Lupin sat by, and wrote Lily’s name, birth and death with big, clear letters so that there would be no misspellings or other mistakes. Finishing the husband’s name, she at last _had_ to ask a question.

“Lily’s husband … his birthday, do you …”

“James was born March 27th, 1960.”

Petunia noted it down, next to Lily’s dates. Lupin came around the table and looked over her shoulder at the papers.

“What should the inscription be?”

“Inscription?” Petunia wasn’t sure. There were brochures on the table, with suggestions. Rest in peace. In loving memory. Gone but not forgotten. Another decision to make. Something normal, proper, something that would fit …

“Can I suggest something?”

Lupin had let her decide everything. That was correct, of course. _She_ was Lily’s sister, her actual family. Petunia slowly pushed away the brochure. Lupin opened the bible he had been reading. Was he religious? Was his kind religious? Wasn’t it against their nature or something? Petunia didn’t know.

“This line, perhaps?”

Petunia looked at the verse he pointed to.

“… ‘The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death?’ But isn’t that …” Morbid? Strange? Unusual? Lily had been unusual. Petunia took the bible from him and read the whole passage. She wasn’t sure if she fully understood it. Just that line alone made her think of something mystic, as if the buried ones could rise again, defeat death somehow like it was a war that could be won.

Lily had fought in a war.

Perhaps it was because she was tired, and wanted it over and done with, but she wrote the verse on the papers with the same big clear letters as the rest of the words.

* * *

When Petunia entered the church the next day, Lupin had already taken a seat at the front bench. She didn’t want the priest to assume anything about them sitting together, so she took the other front bench. The coffins were just as she had arranged them to be, and the florist had added lilies to the bouquets. It was strange, sitting there waiting, knowing the body that used to be Lily was in this box in front of her.

When funeral began at eleven, Petunia heard footsteps, and turned. An old lady, truly ancient, had entered. She scooted in on one of the benches in the back. The priest spoke of how sad it was when two people died so young, how unexpected such things could be, and how they would be missed.

Not by many, judging by the nearly empty church. Aside from the old lady, it was just Petunia and Lupin, sitting on different sides, as families did for the bride and groom. Was this the church Lily had her wedding in? No, Petunia couldn’t recall any church being named on the invitation she had thrown away. Perhaps Lily’s people didn’t get married in churches.

 _Why_ hadn’t she gone to Lily’s wedding?

…

Because Lily’s wedding had been in Lily’s world. A world Petunia had no place in. Since the moment Lily got that letter, she had run off someplace Petunia couldn’t reach. A _special_ place only for _special_ people. A dangerous, unnatural, _magical_ world that took her sister away bit by bit. A chasm had opened between them, and Petunia had been too _bitter_ , too _envious_ to make any attempt to bridge it. Lily had tried, but Petunia had turned away. And now it was too late. Too late to bridge the gap. Too late to apologize.

The lump in her throat was too big. She couldn’t swallow anymore, her eyes were pricking and she couldn’t see the preacher clearly. The tears ran down her face and into her mouth, and finally, finally, she cried. She was openly sobbing, loud enough to fill the little church, but it just wouldn’t stop. She bit down on her handkerchief, trying not to disturb the priest.

She felt a hand on her shoulder. Lupin had moved from his bench to sit beside her. His hands were shaking, and she couldn’t see clearly through all the tears, but she felt certain he was crying too. Petunia kept sobbing throughout the rest of the ceremony, until the coffins were in the ground.

* * *

Outside the church, Petunia apologised for breaking down. It wasn’t like her, to act that way, not controlling herself. The priest smiled sympathetically and told her no one would blame her for grieving. The old lady offered her condolences; apparently she had been a neighbour that knew Lily. Once she left, it was just Petunia and Lupin standing by the graves. A cold November wind rustled the white flowers on the graves.

Lupin turned to her. “When are you leaving?”

“As soon as possible.” Petunia felt drained. Her handkerchief was wet as she tried to fold it and put it back into her purse. It was as if the tears she had cried in the church had been bottling up since she came to the village. No, since she got that letter. There was a slight sense of relief, but mostly, a longing for things to back to normal somehow. She wanted to go home.

“Should we go and pick up those albums?”

It was kindly meant, and Petunia hadn’t really said no when he asked if she wanted them. Still, everything in her rebelled at the suggestion. “I – those -” She _could_ take them. Take them with her a little while, and then throw them away before she got home. No one would know. Except her. No. She couldn’t do that. “I can’t bring them.”

Lupin looked at her. “Why not?”

Because once she left this village, she would leave it all behind. She couldn’t bring something back with her from this place, from Lily’s world. But Petunia didn’t feel like sharing those thoughts. Instead, she settled on a more reasonable excuse. “Because the photos … move.”

He didn’t seem to understand, so she continued on: “It’s not – normal for photos to move.”

Lupin frowned a little. “I _know_ that, my mother’s a muggle, I know muggle photos doesn’t-”

“So, you see; if anyone _saw_ …”

It was a secret thing, their world. Not even their war had reached Petunia’s normal newspapers and broadcasts. Lupin looked worried, suddenly. Sympathetic. Her old school teacher had had that look when he asked some of the kids if everything was alright at home. “… doesn’t your family know?”

“My husband knows, and he’s been very understanding!” Petunia snapped. “He doesn’t hold it against me that my sister is- was-” She broke off, and tried again. “I can’t bring … _that_ back to _my_ world! It doesn’t belong there!”

“Harry ought to know where he comes from.”

“ _Why!?_ Why would anyone want to know this dangerous, unnatural world? Why wasn’t Lily _normal!?_ Instead she was- she was-” Petunia pointed at the freshly dug graves beside them. “Look what it got her!”

Lupin sighed. “All of this is a _part_ of Harry.” He was growing frustrated with her now, he didn’t understand her; how _could_ a person from their world understand. “He should be-”

“He’d going to be like her, _isn’t he?!_ ” He would be; Petunia was sure of it. It would be Lily all over again. “He’ll be unnatural too, a – a _freak_ -”

The word hung in the air between them. Lupin didn’t say anything. He stared at her like he was seeing her for the first time. He probably didn’t like what he saw. Petunia swallowed hard.

“ _Goodbye,_ Mr. Lupin. Thank you for- for your support.”

She turned and hurried out of the graveyard. Lupin didn’t follow her.

* * *

The road home did not bring the same distractions and wrong turns; Petunia drove straight towards Surrey and Little Whinging. She longed to get home. To her safe, normal house, with her steady, normal husband and her sweet, normal boy. She was leaving Lily’s world, and taking nothing with her. It would be like the last days hadn’t happened. With her sister gone, the link was broken and Petunia could pretend that none of it existed, if she wanted to. Nothing strange and unnatural. No hidden dangers lurking in the shadows. She could-

_No._

Petunia’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. Back home, there would be a constant reminder, looking at her with Lily’s eyes. Her sister had _died_ for that child. The letter had said this gave her nephew protection if he stayed with his family; Petunia _couldn’t_ turn him away.

That child had to be a part of her world from now on. Petunia sighed. She would just have to deal with.

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes you get an idea, get really invested and write intensely ... while in the back of your mind you wonder if there's _anyone_ else will be interested in it other than you. So, anyone else up for a Petunia-centric angsty piece about arranging James and Lily’s funeral? Because for whatever reason, _I_ apperantly was.


End file.
